


The Guineverian Legends

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Gwen-centric, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honour of Women's day, a short story about Gwen's rule. Gwen being awesome and dealing with various things that come up after Arthur's death. Staking her claim to her title and her rule, expanding the kingdom, strategising. Galahad appears with some surprising news for her, and Merlin returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guineverian Legends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [all the women of the world](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=all+the+women+of+the+world).



> Deaths are as in cannon; Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, Mordred, Elyan.   
> there is some treatment on grief and war.

The queen strides through the castle. The servants have, since her crowning as sole ruler, become used to her doing this. Most mornings she will rise with the sun, don her armour and issue out to the training grounds. The knights have also become used to her joining them, sparring with them, beating them soundly. It is the place she allows them and herself a little freedom. It is only Sir Leon who knows that it is also the place she buys their loyalty, the place she listens to rumour, the place she tests them. She plays the wild young girl, but really this is the place she is most queenly.   
The queen does not complete the training session with them. She spends half an hour in their company, feeling out the weak links, keeping an eye on the new arrivals, gossiping with the old men, before handing over to Leon, sheathing her sword and sweeping back through the castle, catching up her maid servant on her way through, giving out orders to the stewards and other high servants she runs into, pausing to help the kitchen boy who has tripped over his own feet while gaping at her and spilled someone’s breakfast in her path. 

“Your majesty,” the maid servant says, curtseying, heart beating hard. 

She’s quite new, to Camelot as well as to the position. She’s been serving a high lady for years, but after that lady’s death, she had nowhere to go and had come to the town to seek her fortune. Armed with a good reference and good luck, she’d found herself here. She sets breakfast out on the table and then goes to help the queen with her armour, but she’s too late- the queen is down to her britches and other underthings. 

“Brisen,” the queen says, “would you please prepare clothes for the council?”

Brisen does so, laying a deep coloured dress, highly wrought with embroidery, out on the bed complete with the necessary undergarments, stays, corsetry and shoes. She then gets to the task of putting the armour ready to be cleaned and then sits down to the task until her majesty is ready to dress. 

“Alright,” the queen says, getting to her feet and cleaning her hands on a cloth. 

She does her own underthings, then Brisen helps with the stays and other corsetry and the dress. When they’re done, Brisen waits while the queen brushes her hair, then sets about working the long, thick coils into manageable, feminine and royal plaits that criss-cross over the queen’s head. Brisen knows, as does everyone else in the castle, that the queen sets her hairstyle so she can fight. 

“Thank you, Brisen,” the queen says when her hair is done. 

She puts her crown over her hair and leaves the room, and Brisen breathes out with relief. Not that she dislikes the queen’s company, it’s just more than a little intimidating. Guienevere moves more like a lady as she sweeps through the castle this time, less striding but just as commanding. She gets the same bobbed curtseys and bows, but she does not acknowledge the people around her, this time. 

She arrives a few moments late to council, as always, allowing everyone else to arrive before her. She takes her place and at once sets in clearing the small matters from the table. When that’s over, she looks around at her advisors, then sets her gaze on the empty seats. 

“Sir Gwaine, Merlin, Sir Lancelot, Sir Elyan, Sir Mordred, Lord Havistock, Sir Kay, Sir Bradowen, Sir Caradoc, Lord Horan,” she says, “we have lost many who used to sit among us in recent years.”

The council of men incline their heads. 

“Not to mention,” Guinevere continues, “Lady Elaine of Astolat, Lady Lucia de Luc, and Lady Bradowen.”

Sir Leon and Sir Percival, the latter only recently returned and still recovering his strength, exchange apprehensive looks. They know their queen, they know this is not going nowhere. The inclusion of the ladies in such a list suggests that something is stirring. 

“King Arthur, before his death,” the queen continues. 

The Lords raise their voices in honour for their dead lord, and grief sweeps the room. Arthur was well loved. The queen waits before continuing. 

“My lord Arthur,” she says, “was good enough to confide in me before his death. He was worried about the empty seats, and I am worried now, in his place.”

The invocation of Arthur’s name alerts the lords and knights to the fact that the proposition the queen is going to make is not going to be something they will all be prepared to support. Tension starts. 

“I have been, as many of you are aware, testing and watching the knights, and I have come to a decision. I will be looking for your support in bringing Sir Bors, Sir Palemedes and Sir Gaheris to the council. I will also be writing to Cador, Princess Elena and Tristan, to invite them to take up positions at the round table.”

A muted mumble goes round the table at the list of names. Geheris is very young, Princess Elena a woman, and Tristan a criminal. 

“A pardoned criminal,” Percival corrects, when someone points this out, “one who fought hard for Camelot, lost much, showed loyalty to the king and has since been a great support for the kingdom in running down brigands on the borders.”

“Princess Elena is a wise and noble daughter of a great king,” Leon points out, “she would bring much to the council.”

Guinevere sits back and allows her lords and knights to argue for a long while, allowing Percival and Leon to sway the majority in her favour. Geoffrey of Monmouth listens with her, thinking back on his long years of service to the Pendragons. He clears his throat and his age, experience and authority on the subject creates a silence for him to speak into.

“King Arthur,” Geoffrey starts, allowing the lords to honour their fallen king before continuing, “spoke to me about the precedent in terms of all three of these persons. There is nothing to say that a woman may not sit in council, beyond the precedent that none have. Sir Geheris is of good family, sir Lot of Orkney has a long history of service to Camelot. His son, Sir Gwaine, has recently died in support of the king.”

A ripple goes round the table at that. There has been, of course, rumour about Sir Gwaine and his heritage, but none has spoken aloud the sure knowledge of his high birth, and none has tracked down his family. 

“Before the invasion of King Carleon, Orkney’s lands were Camelot lands,” Geoffrey continues, “and once Queen Annis and King Arthur made peace, many young knights have chosen to be trained in the town once more. Geheris is one of those knights.”

“Tristan-“ Lord Marin begins. 

“Tristan was pardoned by king Arthur,” Geoffrey says, mildly, “and is the son of the once-king of Lyonesse, another land invaded and conquered by Carleon. Annis was unable to forge peace there, and it is still a land of bandits and warlords.”

“Very well,” Marin says, “let us discuss this further after lunch. I have duties to see to before that meal.”

The queen sits forward and everyone goes still and quiet, careful not to alley themselves with Marin. 

“Is it your place, my lord,” Guinevere says, “to dismiss my council?”

“No, your majesty,” Marin says. 

Leon grins. It is, after all, a good thing that Lord Marin is so adept at putting his foot in his mouth. It is probably why the queen allowed him to speak for so long, so freely. No one will dare speak up for him, now, and many will be more inclined to take the queen’s part in the argument, to further distance themselves and avoid her wrath.

“You may attend your duties, my lord,” the queen says. 

Then she sits in silence until Marin rises from the table, bows, and leaves the hall. Guinevere then turns to the rest of her advisors. 

“I would like to know whose support I have to advance the three named knights.”

“Mine,” Percival says. 

It goes around the table, and only four withstand the queen’s manipulations and state that they will not back such a young knight as Sir Geheris. 

“In that case,” the queen says, “I give you permission to promote Sir Geheris, Sir Bors and Sir Palemedes, Sir Leon. I expect to see them at this table tomorrow. For now, you are dismissed. We will reconvene after lunch to discuss the other three possibilities. I expect Lord Marin to return.”

The council rises and bows, then waits for the queen to leave before relaxing and either exiting to other duties or mulling around to discuss the session. There’s some discomfort with the decision in regards to Geheris, but the general feeling in the room is a positive one and no one speaks against the queen. The voiced protests are all worded carefully, stating worry about his youth, and no one raises a single worry about the queen herself. Sir Leon nods in satisfaction, claps Sir Percival on the back and goes to see to his duty. 

Two years into Guienever’s reign, the council of knights, lords and ladies is met to discuss a treaty with Lyonese warlords that will allow peace to fall in the embattled land. Queen Guinevere’s campaign to reclaim the land has been systematic and short, bringing down first the bandits then the lower lords. The treaty is a symbol only, a way of curtailing bloodshed and saving the few innocent men and women still living there more heartache. Sir Geheris is petitioning the queen for permission to rule the land, as Duke or Earl if not as King, when the great double doors swing open and two guards enter, escorting a stranger. 

The council quiets. The man is dressed in armour that shows the dints and tarnish of many battles, but he is young and incredibly beautiful. His dark skin, darker than the queen’s, and his bright eyes are enchanting. He steps forward and bows his head before getting down on one knee and asking permission to address the queen. 

“You have that,” Guinevere says. 

“My name is Sir Galahad, and I am here to plead for a place as a knight of Camelot, your majesty,” he says, raising his head.

Brisen, long in the queen’s service now, feels no fear in stepping forward to the queen to whisper a word in her ear. She lowers her head so her lips are close, almost brushing the hair she spent so long winding into plaits this morning. 

“He is Lady Eleine of Astolat’s son, ma’am,” Brisen says, softly, then she pauses, “and he is Sir Lancelot’s son.”

Guinevere turns sharply, eyes narrowed, anger showing clearly on her face. Sir Geheris turns away from the beautiful knight to watch his queen. Her anger is quick and fierce, but tends to be let free only in service of justice. If she is angry, then there is something worth paying attention to. 

“How?” Guinevere whispers.

“It is a long story, ma’am, but I assure you that Sir Lancelot acted as honourably as he might in such circumstances.”

Guinevere schools her features and turns her attention back to Galahad.

“Sir knight, do you know who your father was?” she asks. 

“My father was Sir Lancelot, of this court at his death,” Galahad says. 

Geheris knows little of Sir Lancelot, but Sir Percival and Sir Leon do, to say nothing of Gaius, who is in attendance on this day. Gaius is old and bone weary, ready to retire, but he gives Galahad his attention, studying the man’s face to find trace of the man Merlin had been so fond of. He can see a certain shape to the lips, a likeness in the way his eyes are shaped, but that is it. Perhaps it is the colour of his skin and the fineness of his hair that makes him so much his mother, who Gaius has never met. 

Princess Elena studies Galahad in the same way and finds much likeness between him and the lady she knew in her youth. She remembers Elaine well and is glad to see her son, so she petitions the queen in his favour. Mithian, now Lady or the Earldom her kingdom has become under Guinevere’s rule, given up almost freely, has met neither of the man’s parents but enjoys the way he reminds her of a suitor she had after Arthur had called off their wedding, so she adds her voice to Elena’s. 

“I will allow you,” the queen says, “the honour of being tested. Tonight you will sleep with the squires, tomorrow you will work in the stables. Either Sir Leon or myself will send for you when we have the time to spar with you.”

Guinevere dismisses him and returns to the treaty, then turns their attention to the border she wants to next extend- the border between Camelot’s now wide-ranging lands and Wessex. The Saxons have been beating on the border for the past year and the queen wants to draw back from the war with the Southern lands Helios once ruled and instead focus their forces on this new fight. 

It is not until night is closing in that she returns to her chambers. Brisen is waiting for her there, by the fire, hands clasped against the fear she can feel rising and rising, has been feeling all day. She stands when the queen enters and then sits once more, waiting. The queen keeps her in suspense while she changes from her heavy dress to lighter breeches and shirt, then she sits in silence opposite Brisen and waits. 

“It was my fault,” Brisen blurts, “Eleina was very much in love with Lancelot, she had seen him riding through her lands often, returning from some adventure or other to the border of Camelot. She asked a favour of me, and I gave it willingly, blindly loyal to her. I never questioned.”

“What did you do?” the queen asks. 

“I know that you have welcomed the druid people back to Camelot, and I know that the laws surrounding sorcery are much more lenient now, but it is still not legal to practise magic in this kingdom, your majesty.”

“No, it is not. Is that what you did? You enchanted Sir Lancelot?”

“I did. He believed that,” Brisen stops, closes her eyes, and then she just says it, “that it was you he was seeing.”

She gets no response, so she has no choice but to open her eyes and face her queen. Guinevere looks contemplative. 

“When was this?” she asks, at last. 

“Before King Arthur was more than a prince, ma’am.”

The queen softens a little. As much as she ever does. 

“Then, it will be forgiven in time. We will pass over the matter of sorcery, as it was done beyond the kingdom’s borders and long ago.”

That is all that is said on the matter. Brisen is never asked about her magic, and she never offers the information. She has lived too long with it as a secret to give up more than she already has willingly. The queen dismisses her and sits by the fire a long time, grief beating through her for her lost lover, her lost husband, the many friends she lost. For Merlin, who has yet to return to Camelot, though Guinevere has taken Escetir for Camelot and made Hunith an envoy for the land, to speak on behalf of the people before their lords and ladies, and has spent a fair amount of time within the city walls. 

Guinevere sends for Sir Percival and Sir Leon and they sit together, talking over old times by the fire until the grief lessens. 

“I have lost my lover, my husband, my best friends,” the queen says, “and I have become hard. I know it. But, I do not regret much of what has come to pass since Arthur’s death. Is that wrong?”

“No,” Leon reassures, “you have made the kingdom great. There is nothing to regret.”

“To begin with I was following Arthur’s strategies and plans, but he never saw this far ahead. He never foresaw how great the kingdom could be. I believe Merlin did, but not Arthur.”

“He was too much his father,” Percival says, “perhaps. You’re much more open to magic than he was, and that has allowed the kingdom to thrive in many ways. The fear is lifted, now the ban is simply law, and does not lead to burning.”

“It is no longer a vendetta,” Leon agrees.

“Arthur was less his father than anyone knew,” Guinevere says, “I believe that he was far more open to magic than even I. He would have lifted the ban within the year, if he had lived. Once he discovered Merlin was a sorcerer, that would have lifted the last remaining barriers in his mind. He could never see any wrong in Merlin.”

“Tonight is for mourning, but tomorrow we must go on,” Percival says, “though, it is hard, sometimes. Geheris is a great comfort, I can speak to him of Gwaine and hear of his younger years, when he was perhaps happier, but I, too, lost my lover.”

They allow themselves this only rarely, but tonight has affected them all and they give comfort to one another for what was lost. 

It takes Guinevere a week to lose her anger at Lancelot and Eleaine and find the time to test Galahad. The court thinks little of the time passing, seeing how busy their queen and first knight are. It is only the most trusted knights, Sir Gaheris, Sir Bors, and the Lady Elena who wonder. Gaius does not wonder, he speaks to Brisen and gets the story out of her, having already discovered her magic years ago. 

Galahad, when he is called, is not suspicious. He knows that his father did not act entirely honourably when he returned from the dead, and that his mother died of grief at losing him, so he has little fondness for Sir Lancelot. He honours him and respects him, but he does not love him and is young enough that he cannot see how anyone else could, either. He meets the queen without fear. 

He does not give her any quarter for being a woman, and that makes the queen like him and some of the older knights dislike him. It buys him the beginnings Gaheris’s respect and gets him noticed by Sir Leon. He fights like Gwaine used to, Percival thinks, all passion and calm, all speed and strength. Courage and joy in the movement makes him seem so very young, and Percival smiles, thinking of the man he loved, the way his laughter used to take years off him. 

Galahad loses, but he holds out long enough that Guinevere fights him twice more before handing him into Leon’s hands for training. 

It is a further year into the queen’s reign when Merlin returns to court. He comes walking in very much like the first time he had come to Camelot, a pack on his shoulder, curiosity in his face. This time, though, he walks right up to the castle and through the halls, straight to the council chambers. He brushes the guards and servants who recognise him off and walks into the hall, staying by the doors and putting down his bundle of belongings. 

“Merlin!” the queen exclaims. 

For many around the table, it is the first time they have seen her lose control of her emotions. Merlin smiles at her, then looks around at the familiar and unfamiliar faces, the many women who sit in places where once old, archaic men sat. He recognises both Elena and Mithian, recognises Annis and- he sees his own mother and gapes at her. 

“It is good of you to return to court,” the queen says, drily, “much has changed in your absence.”

“Yes,” Merlin says, “I heard the rumours. I was a long way north when they reached me and it took me some time to journey back. I was surprised, though, how soon I found the Camelot border. Apparently the kingdom has spread quite a bit, since I left.”

“We have made some gains,” Sir Leon says, gravely. 

He’s grinning, though, and so is Percival. Hunith rises from the table and disperses the last of the formal air of the gathering by gathering Merlin into a tight hug and holding him for long moments. 

“I have not heard from you in so long,” she says. 

“I’m sorry, Mum,” he says, “I was…”

“It is alright,” Hunith says, “you had to grieve in your own way.”

“You come at an opportune moment, as it happens,” Guinevere says, holding out her hand for him to take, “we were just discussing how to bring the rest of the council round to lifting the ban on magic.”

“This isn’t the council?” Merlin asks.

Mithian laughs and gestures to several people who, apparently, should make it obvious that this isn’t the council. Merlin has never been good at such etiquette. Hunith shakes her head at him. 

The news that Merlin has returned spreads quickly, as does the reminder that Merlin is Emrys, and that it is he who secured them victory at Camlan, who tried so hard to save their king. A great feast is prepared, just in case the queen calls for it, which she does. She does not herself attend, she sends Elena in her stead. She and Mithian lock themselves away in chambers to strategise an invasion, though no one in the castle knows that is what they are doing. 

“We will send Galahad,” Guinevere says, “the dark tower will take a lot to bring down, he has the courage and strength.”

“Who will we send in terms of the magic?” Mithian asks. 

“I want to send Percival as well,” Guinevere says, “he has sought far and wide to discover the way of defeating the many spells Morgana put in place, that killed my brother.”

“Those spells,” Mithian says, tenaciously, “will take more than knights to dismantle.”

“I would send Merlin, if he will go,” the queen says, “if not, I will send Brisen. She is the only one I know who has the power and the skill. I am sure that more will come forwards, once the ban is lifted, and we will have to find a way of testing them and integrating them into the army. But for now, it must be Merlin or Brisen.”

“Then it must wait until morning. It is already a break of protocol and a slight, having you absent from the feast, to call away the guest of honour would be perhaps too much.”

“You are right. Will you rest with me, tonight?”

“Of course, my queen.”

Mithian and the queen withdraw, and the servants who seem them go whisper the rumour of their relationship, of their making love behind those thick, closed doors. The rumour is wrong. Mithian sleeps beside the queen, but she does not sleep with the queen or make love to her. The queen has never fallen out of love with Arthur, though few know how deep that love still runs. Even her knights do not know. Only Mithian sees that. 

In the morning, Merlin attends the queen but refuses her request, and Mithian sees the love that runs so deep in the queen runs equally deep in Merlin, and the grief that the queen has locked up inside her and used to build a great kingdom is ravishing Merlin, destroying him, eating him from the inside out. Hunith sees it too and takes Merlin away, back to Ealdor, back to his home, to rest and recover and grieve. 

Guinevere instead calls on Brisen. 

After Queen Guinevere has ruled Camelot for six years, the kingdom is renamed Albion and sets it’s sights and forces on the Saxons. The queen rides at the head of her army, Brisen at her side, Mithian at her back. The army rides with sorcerers and is protected from afar by Merlin, his wisdom and deep magic. The queen follows the Saxons’ lead and allows women into the army, knights them and honours them. It is a very different vision of Albion from the one that Merlin saw so long ago, there is no Arthur and the code of chivalry has changed so much with the inclusion of women. 

There is no Arthur, and that makes Merlin weak and only able to come to the aid of the kingdom occasionally. There is no Arthur, and that gave Guinevere the strength to start building the kingdom, back when it was still so young, when she was so young and full of grief. She had found herself enjoying her role and had discovered in herself a talent for it, and now she does not call on Arthur for inspiration and motivation. She has her people, she has her council. Her duty is to them, not to a dead man. 

She rides at the head of her army, sword raised high, and she rides for the kingdom, for Camelot, for her friends, for the future. And as she rides, Brisen raises her hand and the land before them smoothes out, making their charge faster and impossible, hooves sparking, fire rising from their weapons. Mithian gives a war cry and the army echoes it. The hills echo with it, Brisen calling the echoes and intensifying them, taking the sparks and fire and making the Camelot army the terror of the lands.


End file.
